Sing With Me
by Qomoi
Summary: The way the 2004 movie should have been. After hearing a heartfelt love declaration from Raoul, Christine spots the Phantom behind a statue. Excusing the Vicomte, she decides to confront Erik…
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

This is my first fanfiction ever! I apologise in advance for possible grammatical mistakes, since my mother tongue is portuguese, not english. Anyway, I really hope you like it :)

Disclaimer: I do not own anything from POTO. All rights belong to Gaston Leroux, as well as Andrew Lloyd Webber *sighs*

**Chapter 1: Prologue**

- Erik's POV-

_No more talk of darkness,  
Forget these wide-eyed fears.  
I'm here, nothing can harm you  
My words will warm and calm you…_

Erik could not believe his eyes. Christine and the vicomte were on the rooftop of the opera house together. Undoubtedly, she had brought Raoul, fearful that his life might be in danger – what other reason could there be? Christine was afraid of _him_, the monster. And now the young vicomte was singing her a love song.

How come she had done something like this? _Little minx_. After everything he had done for her, how could she?

The Phantom breathed in deeply, desperately trying to keep the boiling emotions from running wild. The pain that struck him was tearing him to pieces. Innumerous sobs were building up on his throat. _How had things come to this?_ When had his sweet Christine been so frightened of him that she had to run to the arms of that… _boy_? Erik's heart was dilacerated by pain. Shifting his glance to the floor, he spotted the red rose he had left in the changing room for her. Slowly, he picked it up. Fighting as hard as he possibly could, trying to hold the tears back. Why had this to happen to him? After all these years, during which he had finally managed to make a friend, someone who didn't fear him, everything had gone wrong, and all for a single reason – his face. Had she not succeeded in the outrageous mission of taking his mask off, he would've never acted like that towards her!

- Christine's POV -

_Let me be your freedom,  
Let daylight dry your tears…_

Christine blinked with surprise. A _love song_? He was singing a _love song_ to her? Oh no. No, no, no, no. This was not the least expected, not at such a time. With all that had been happening in the opera house during the last months – _what was that for_?

All of a sudden, she spotted a moving shadow, right behind the statue of Eros, just by the place where she had left her rose, not intending Raoul to see it. But the rose wasn't there anymore, was it? Maybe the wind had moved it somewhere else? Christine made a funny face. The rose was nowhere to be seen. Someone had definitely picked it up – the shadow. Her heart started to beat faster and faster. Could it be _him_?

_I'm here, with you, beside you.  
To guard you and to guide you…_

The moment Christine realized the vicomte was expecting her to give him an answer, she managed to mumble something.

"R-Raoul, I don't think this is the right moment to-"

"What do you mean, Little Lotte?. Raoul's blue eyes were wide open with anticipation. She took a deep breath.

"Let us talk some other time. Please Raoul, I just need some time alone."

"Then I'll stay here with you. I could not forgive myself if you were to be attacked by that lunatic!"

Involuntarily, Christine flinched. _Is it my eyes or the shadow just moved?_

"I need to be alone. Please, would you mind waiting for me downstairs? I won't be long, I promise. After everything that happened tonight, I just need to think it through". She paused and gave him her most reassuring smile. "It'll be just for a few minutes. Please…".

"All right, Little Lotte", Raoul breathed, defeated by the persuasive brunette. Christine watched him leave with surprising relief.

Alone, at last. Sort of. Trying to gather as much courage as she could, Christine walked towards the statue.

"Angel?"

- Erik's POV -

She had dismissed him. Why? It didn't make any sense that Christine would do such a thing. Shouldn't she be afraid of being alone at such a place? Didn't she know that the Phantom could emerge from shadows at any time and take her to his lair for good? _Why then_ would she come near? Why leaving the safe arms of her husband-to-be?

She was breathing heavily, as if she were anxious. It was a ridiculous thing to consider, but perhaps she knew he was here. Even if she _knew_ (which, once again, was the most farfetched thing that could ever cross his mind at that moment), assuming she was certain of what she was doing, it would only be due to what is commonly referred to as "a shot in the dark". For many had tried, but no one had ever succeeded to know here the Opera Ghost hid. He was impossible to track down.

Lost in his thoughts, Erik didn't realize how close Christine was until he heard her calling.

"Angel? Are you there? Pray answer me." If he didn't know better, we would have said that she sounded somewhat expectant. But of course, she was a great actress as well as a sublime singer – he knew that too well for his own good. Being such a master in the art of manipulation, she could bring him to believe just about anything that came out of those pretty lips.

"Why did you kill him?"

The hazel eyes were looking directly at him. She had found him. Even amidst the shadows, she had found him.

- Christine's POV -

Her intuition had not failed her - the Phantom was right where she had thought him to be.

His gaze pierced right through her soul. Icy blue eyes observed her intently.

A tremulous sound left her throat.

"Why would you kill him?"

Silence. She could see the shadow moving, even if ever so slightly. However, before the Phantom could leave, Christine held on to his cape with all her might.

"Why would you do something like that?"

Still no answer came. The Phantom avoided her gaze uncomfortably.

The despair Christine felt since her voyage to the lair started to take a shape of its own.

"W-why? It doesn't make any sense! It possibly can't be because of the pageboy role, can it?". Her grip was so tight on the Phantom's cape that her knuckles were white. Tears streamed down her face and her sobs were growing incontrollable. Could he even understand what she was saying?

"Please, tell me it wasn't because of the role, of a stupid role! Explain it to me, so that I can believe that you're not as they say. Please…"

- Erik's POV -

Erik was shaking nervously, puzzled by what was happening right in front of him. Never before had he been put in this kind of situation, never before had he felt so vulnerable. And she looked so innocent, so pure…Snowflakes were falling gently, getting trapped in her magnificent hazel curls, which made her look the more angelic.

Brown eyes were swollen red, with tears forming at the edges. Her nose adopted a light shade of red, while her lips were quivering. The expression on her face made her look more miserable than one could expect from an actress, even if an outstanding one.

It seemed like an eternity until Christine heard the Phantom's voice.

"Leave me be. You have an opera to star, mademoiselle."His voice sounded as cold as his eyes, unusually formal even for him. He looked straight at her. "And a Vicomte to confort, I assume."

Before she could do anything, he had gone. Christine was all alone.


	2. Chapter 2: The trap

****Soooo here it is, the second chapter! I hope you like it.

Please review and tell what you think :)

Disclaimer: Once again, I do not own anything from POTO (sadly). All rights belong to Gaston Leroux, as well as Andrew Lloyd Webber *sighs*

**Chapter 2: The trap.**

- Christine's POV -

Christine sighed. Another performance of _Il Muto_ was over and she was exhausted. What before felt like an utter blessing now felt like a burden. She was just so, so tired.

Her fame had reached all of Paris and aristocracy from all over Europe came to Opera Populaire only to watch her perform.

Despite all of this, days went by slowly and devoid of the magic they once had. Of course she still loved singing and acting, but things had been quite different since the "accident" involving Joseph Buquet. It seemed that an important part of her life had gone missing. Admirers outside her dressing room, the endless invitations from Raoul and the praise from her friends and colleagues weren't enough to fill up the void Christine felt. Even when considering everything that had happened, Christine couldn't keep herself from feeling that something was wrong and that the phantom wasn't the monster everyone made him to be - after all, he was just a man. For several occasions she had tried to question Mme. Giry about him, although she hadn't been successful on her quest. In fact, the only answer she had obtained so far had been something as "a tormented spirit, but a good-intentioned one", which didn't tell her much. _Who is he?_, _What does he do?_ and the most tormenting of all questions, _Why isn't he back?_ would persistently invade her mind and the worst of it all was that she had no idea of what the answers could be.

Christine looked at the mirror and sighed again. Box 5 hadn't been occupied lately. Amongst all the gifts she received every soirée there hadn't been any red rose with a black satin ribbon. Whoever he might be, her Angel didn't seem to ever see her again. Perhaps the root of all problems was the night he had brought her to his lair. _If only I hadn't been so stupid. If only I hadn't taken his mask off, he wouldn't be mad at me and I wouldn't have felt frightened._ In fact, at the time he seemed almost as scared as she. _ Not frightened. His face isn't that hideous, it just happens that I was caught off-guard. _He even appeared to be as normal as a masked man could be. _He's not even that ugly. I would even dare to say that he could be a rather handsome man if it wasn't for that…scarred complexion. _And Christine had made it all the worse by speaking of it to none other than Raoul. Startled by the terrifying events of the evening, she'd said many unfair and spiteful things. After all, hadn't he been her faithful friend of so many years? Ever since she had arrived to the opera house, he had been the only one listening to all of her secrets and advising her patiently, always bearing in mind her well-being and career success. He'd always been there, and she was absolutely certain that he didn't wish her any harm, contrarily to what many could insinuate. Possibly Christine was the only person he trusted to show himself. And she had betrayed the trust he had bestowed upon her. _Silly, foolish Christine!_

However, there was a way she could try making things right – Christine needed to find him and apologise, face to face. For the last weeks, she'd handed out a few letters to Mme. Giry addressed to the phantom, which she was sure had been delivered. As expected, no answer came, which left her with a final alternative, to go to his lair. She remembered every path they had taken. There was just a slight problem, crossing the lake, but she felt confident that there was more than one passage available. So really, it was just a matter of trying. After all, how many tunnels and hideaways could an opera house have?

At this time, everyone should be sleeping and therefore she could go missing without anyone knowing. She wore one of the simplest and warmest dresses she owned, grabbed a candlestick and opened the mirror. How incredible was it that no one had ever noticed it was a secret passage to an underground world. Christine wondered if the phantom had ever caught side of the prima donna getting dressed. Her face turned crimson red with annoyance. It seemed extremely inappropriate that someone as chivalrous would ever do something like that.

She walked along the tunnel and lighted some of the candles on the stone walls. There were mice everywhere. Then, she went down the spiral staircase, especially careful not to slip. Luckily, years of ballet training had given her enough agility so that wouldn't happen. When Christine reached the bottom of the stairs, she cautiously walked in the direction of the lake where a boat had once been. She carefully looked around, until she spotted a small door. Then, she lowered herself and saw that there was a narrow and displeasingly wet room. The room had a small window and another door. She peeped through the window, from which she could see the small chapel where she regularly went to pray for her father. Christine proceeded to the door and breathed in deeply. There was a whole unexplored world underneath the opera house. What would she stumble upon next? She kept walking through a small ramp and reached a two-way path. And now, where should she go? _Right. Definitely the right one. _Only this time the corridor was even tighter and darker than the previous one. It was almost impossible to see anything at all, but Christine kept on going with conviction.

All of a sudden, she felt something moving, until a trapdoor opened underneath her feet. _A trap_, was the last thing crossing her mind before she was swallowed by water.

- Erik's POV -

The worst weeks of Erik's life were going by slowly. His former pupil Christine was now the most recent musical sensation of Paris. Every day, queues of fans and admirers formed in front of Opera Populaire only if to catch a small glimpse of the first soprano. Doubtlessly, she was beautiful. The Phantom sighed. He had sworn himself not to see her act until he completed his current project, an opera called Don Juan Triumphant. Should everything go as planned, we would take revenge on the bewitching brunette and her lover. She would regret having deceived him.

In spite of it all, even with all the rage he felt, it was impossible not to miss the routine that had come to be established over the years. Not to see her and to scarcely hear her voice was a form a torture he had failed to anticipate and it affected him more and he had initially supposed. He looked up and fixed one of his desks. On it, three letters Christine had written him and that had been delivered by Antoinette. _It's better for her not to contact with me. _He was certain she had only done it so that she could humiliate him in front of everyone. He didn't trust her, not any longer. And how could he, after all she'd said to the vicomte? For sure he had convinced her to play along on a scheme to catch him. Anyway, he would not risk it.

However, every time he read any of those letters (which happened more often than what he was willing to admit) he felt an immense desire to lay his eyes upon her. Sometimes he would attend rehearsals of _Il Muto_ or he would watch her sleep in her dressing room. He did it always after the main performances, which was when she was the more tired. This way, he could ensure she wouldn't sense his presence. What surprised him on those times was that she wouldn't just sleep; she would cry herself to sleep. And the most confusing of it all was that he had no idea why. Shouldn't she be happier than she'd ever been? She was the prima donna and the world was at her feet, including her dearest vicomte, who was persistently inviting her out. Then, why would she cry? It didn't make any sense whatsoever, and as much as he wanted to help her, he'd poured his heart out for her only to end up getting hurt. Therefore, there was of no use interfering. Whatever it was that was going on, she'd surely have other friends to assist her.

It was quite late already and Erik was trying to develop the second act of his opera, although he was not achieving great results. Today had been rehearsals day, which meant the opera was calmer than usual. Perhaps it was a nice idea to wander around and forget about Don Juan for a while.

Passing through the stairs that led to the stalls, Erik realized that something wasn't quite right. One of his traps had been triggered. The lake trapdoor. What or whoever had fallen for it wouldn't make it if he didn't take action quickly and would drown to death, for there was no escape.

The Phantom ran as quickly as he could until he reached the handle that allowed him to stop the water flow. Then he dived into the lake. Eventhough it was very dark, Erik managed to spot a feminine silhouette sinking.

_Christine. Oh Christine, why?_


	3. Chapter 3: Awakening

First of all, I'm so sorry that I haven't uploaded this chapter before! College got in the way, amongst with other problems and I must say it's been a battle of wills to write this. Also, it really wasn't an easy chapter to write, mostly because I wasn't sure of how to end it :\ However, the draft of the next two chapters is almost complete, so luckily I'll able to post those soon. Hope you like this one!

I'll really appreciate some lovely reviews :D

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to POTO. All credit goes to Gaston Leroux and genius Andrew Lloyd Webber.

**Chapter 3: Awakening**

- Erik's POV –

Christine was safe. Thank God, he had managed to save her just in time to avoid the worst. He flinched. She could have died. Killed by his traps. Fortunately, he'd been fast enough and as soon as he took her out of the water, she immediately started to cough the water trapped in her lungs. Erik had tried to wake her, but she remained unconscious. For the time being, she was breathing and he considered himself lucky for that.

Erik carried the petite opera singer in his arms until he reached his lair. For all he knew, she'd come alone. Although he wondered for what silly purpose she'd done that, there were more urgent details that he had to attend to. Firstly, he needed to assure her comfort and keep her dry and warm. Rapidly, he removed her wool dress (which was soaked wet - no wonder, it was heavy enough to have helped her sink faster) and involved her in a cozy dry blanket before he could even dare to look at her disrobed form. Gently, he laid her on his swan bed and lighted the fireplace. Then, he changed into dry clothing and remained by her side, thinking.

Should he call Antoinette? It was the most sensible thing to do, since Christine was in no condition of getting up, let alone perform! Moreover, in a few hours rehearsals were due to start and a missing prima donna would certainly not go unnoticed. Still, problems would arise that would go far beyond her disappearance - where she had been, who she had been with… Indeed, he could not keep her down there. It was the best solution, both for her career and his sanity.

In spite of it all, he wanted her to stay. There were a couple of hours left before dawn and there was no immediate reason to move her out. Comfort was assured and he had sufficient medical knowledge to assure her well-being, as far as he was concerned. Also, there were other reasons for him to wish for her staying. He needed to know exactly why she had adventured into the opera house underground world. Christine knew perfectly that it was his domain – then, why? Why had she come down all on her own, why had she bothered to go there? It could perfectly be a strategy to hunt him down, a desperate conspiracy drafted by that silly boy. But in that case she wouldn't be coming alone. And if she disappeared, then no doubt the Vicomte would have taken measures already.

So it wasn't a plan. A very ingenious one, that was. Why? Why on Earth would she put herself at risk? Nothing made sense to Erik. It seemed almost impossible that she was there, sleeping in his bed. And he needed answers, desperately.

He decided to wait before calling Antoinette in. In the meantime, he decided to pick a book from his library and watch closely over Christine, in case she woke up.

- Christine's POV –

Her head hurt and she felt exhausted. Christine remembered being in a small passageway… and falling into water. After that she did not recall anything, only the feeling of slowly drifting into deep sleep and she couldn't bring herself to open her eyes. For a long time, the sequence of events kept playing over and over again in her mind.

Finally, she felt rested. She felt so comfortable, so warm, and so… safe. She awakened peacefully and found herself in a slightly familiar room. She sat on the bed and looked around. Christine quickly realized exactly where she was. She noticed a big fireplace in front of the bed. Right by her side, the phantom was sound asleep, a book open on his lap.

What had happened? She remembered falling into water, feeling trapped… had he saved her? Christine couldn't help but stare at him for a while. He looked so peaceful, snoring just a little, tension completely off his body. And this man had saved her life, for which she felt so very grateful, along with the chance to see him and perhaps get him to speak to her again. But was it right to get her hopes up too high? Maybe not. He was mad at her, with reason. Still, Christine was determined to get that wall down between them.

She didn't want to startle him, so she decided to call him in a hushed tone.

"Angel…? Angel, wake up", she whispered.

The masked man opened his eyes and straightened himself instantly. In less than a second he was by her side.

"Don't move or attempt to get up. I can't tell if you are injured, as you may have a concussion from the fall" he said gravely. "What is the last thing you remember?"

Christine blushed deeply. "Erm… I was walking through a corridor."

"Yes?" his look was inquisitive, which made her the more nervous. She gulped.

"A door opened beneath me. A trap door, that is. I fell into water and I couldn't swim my way up. I-I…" Christine was shaking nervously. It had been a horrible experience. "I couldn't breathe very well because of the corset. It felt like falling asleep, really. After that, I don't think I recall anything else." Her look was fixed upon her hands; she couldn't bear looking straight at him.

The Phantom kept his gaze upon her intently. He nodded and turned around. He was about to leave the room, but Christine managed to be swift.

"Wait!"

His brows arched with surprise, eyes wide open with shock. Rapidly the expression on his face turned serious and quizzical.

"What is the matter, mademoiselle?"

And that was the moment Christine snapped.

"Are you seriously going to leave me here alone?"

The man ignored her (yet again) and resumed his exit.

Christine got up quickly and yelled "I'm coming after you! I won't take this any longer!" Before she could even make it to the fireplace, she felt dizzy and tripped. Suddenly, his hands were grabbing her small arms. His roaring voice echoed all over the room. "You will stay in your bed, Christine! And your childish attitudes will not be tolerated. They almost cost your life." He lifted her up as if she were as light as a feather and gently put her on the bed. Coldly, he continued "Shall you reproduce your pathetic behavior, I will tie you down to this bed. You're not to be up, given your circumstances. Have I made myself clear?"

After a short but an awkward period of silence, she nodded.

"Good." He left quickly, the door closed behind him. She was alone in the room. Christine was still processing everything that had happened. He had saved her, but still wouldn't talk to her. Really, he had barely looked at her! And it all made her feel even guiltier. She'd hurt him, she knew that. And how terrible she felt about it. However, she was determined to win his trust back. She'd already come this far, why not give her luck one more push?

By the time he came back (she supposed he ought to come back at some point) she would confront him. She would apologize properly and ask him how on earth he knew she was in danger. That thought comforted her, as strange as it was. Could it possibly mean that he still cared about her, that she was still under his protection? Without fully understanding why, she smiled at this thought. Maybe there was still hope after all.

- Erik's POV -

The kettle had been whistling for a long time before he decided to bring Christine some tea and toast. Of course chicken soup would have been much more suitable for someone who had nearly died a few hours before, but he did not have nor the ingredients or the necessary equipment - there no need for it, since he never cooked.

Carefully putting the tea asset on a tray, he realized how painfully nervous he was. Christine had stated in the most straightforward way possible her intentions of speaking to him about her rescue. And most likely about her unreplied missives as well. Of course he didn't have to, in any way, to provide her with answers. He didn't have any obligation towards her and was fully aware of it. The girl should be grateful enough that she'd survived her little irresponsible adventure. That was all there was to it.

Finally, he gathered courage to take her the food - the tea would get cold.

- Christine's POV -

Ever so slowly, the door opened and the phantom calmly entered the room. Christine was sitting on the bed, observing intently. He put the tray on the nightstand.

"You should eat. I apologize that I can't provide you a more complete meal. I'll be out in case you should need me."

Suddenly, Christine cried:

"Wait! I told you I needed to talk to you! I need answers!" Her voice trembled nervously and she looked rather pale. "Don't pretend you're not listening!" She threw him a pillow, missing him by inches. The phantom turned around and their eyes locked. He said icily:

"I must call for Mdme. Giry. You are in no shape for a rehearsal and she ought to take care of you."

"STOP IT NOW!"

When had she begun crying? Her face was soaking wet and her rebel curls were glued to her face. Everything was blurred out by her copious tears and she couldn't bring herself to stop sobbing. Still, she felt his dark presence. A dark undefinable figure was right in front of her. For a while, she even felt thankful that she couldn't see him clearly. At least she wouldn't have to bear the disdainful expression he was certainly showing. Everything felt like an endless nightmare - when, at last, she found an opportunity to talk to him and set the record straight she also found a way to blow it all. What is worse than sabotaging yourself? Nothing feels bitterer, for sure. Christine gulped as all thoughts raced through her mind.

"I'm so sorry. You don't have to forgive me, I mean…" She lifted her head, cleaned the tears with the back of her hand and looked him in the eyes.

"I know I said terrible things, evil things. The worst of it all is that I don't even believe them myself. They're untrue. I lied about you, defamed you. I'm so sorry, really I am. I don't know what else to say. I just don't want to end it all. Above all else, I consider you to be my friend and I shall never forget how kind you've been to me for all these years. In the end, I proved that I don't deserve you or your friendship, for I've betrayed you. You have every right not to talk to me ever again if you wish; but I thought I'd just say it, so you know how much I regret it."

- Erik's POV -

Erik stared blankly at her. He would not allow himself to show how her words had pierced him. He hadn't expected her to insist talking to him, let alone yell at him or even demand things from him. He would not give his emotions away so easily, as affected by her speech as he was. His muse seemed genuinely sad and quite frankly he couldn't make himself believe that it had all been just an act. However, he found nothing wrong with being precautious. He'd been fooled once, he would not let himself be fooled twice. And how it hurt, even now. Though her apologies made it seem easier to bear, the pain was there - the pain of a wounded pride. That was why he couldn't bring himself to forgive her. Not yet, anyway. The Phantom needed time to think it through, to lick his wounds and find a way to know what to do next.

That was why he couldn't console her. He would do what he thought best given the circumstances; being alone in the same room as Christine aroused certain feelings and sensations that remained though he was mad at her. In the most courteous way he found he said, at last:

"I heard you. And I will consider your words, Miss Daaé. Now, you should eat your toast while I go and fetch Mdme. Giry."

And the Phantom left the room.


	4. Chapter 4: Turning Tables

So, here's chapter 4! I know, I know, both Erik and Christine are very stubborn. Review please!

Enjoy! :D

Disclaimer: I do not know own POTO. All hail Gaston Leroux and Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber!

**Chapter 4: Turning Tables**

- Christine's POV -

Christine looked through the window. Christmas Eve. Everything was covered with snow. Paris was truly beautiful in the winter, especially when this time of the year arrived. All stores and streets were marvelously decorated with countless lights and ribbons, chants filled up the air.

She hadn't seen the phantom since he left the room to call Mme. Giry. The middle-aged teacher had come and took her to her primma donna room. Just like that. Of course there had been severe looks of disapproval and a few harsh words such as "Are you a child, Christine? I thought you had more sense than that! Mon Dieu, coming to these catacombs all by yourself!" and "You were lucky that he found you, you really were". While listening to the reprimands, Christine felt she'd let herself down by doing something so irresponsible, so thoughtless.

Surprisingly enough, she didn't regret what she'd done. Christine knew she'd put herself in terrible danger, but with that feeling also came the certainty that she would have done it again if put in the very same situation. Not that it was wise, not at all. It had been stupid to allow despair to take the best of her, Christine knew it. She also knew that it was best not to act as if she were the heroine of a novel or a fairy tale. The Phantom had come to her rescue, that was true enough. As was also true that it had been sheer luck - some might even consider it a miracle.

So, there she was. Back to square one. Christine couldn't help but sigh. It felt like all the effort had gone to waste. All those letters, being able to face him and tell him how sorry she was - all she got was an "I will consider your words". Which really meant he wasn't going to forgive her or even talk to her again. Well, at least she had tried, not that she was conformed with that. But for the time being, it was better to give the phantom some space, she reckoned. Hopefully, things would turn out alright.

After spending a few weeks in bed, she'd progressively returned to rehearsal. Mme. Giry had called in a doctor, who confirmed she didn't have a concussion. Still, he advised her to rest and to slowly resume her routine, which she was almost accomplishing.

Raoul came to see her almost everyday, which had made room for gossip in Opera Populaire. Even though she refused all of his advances, he insisted on coming and giving her presents, most of which she would refuse, give to Meg or throw into a drawer never to see daylight again. It was expected that they should be a couple, which they were not. Just friends, she told herself. _He knows that I don't wish to marry him. I've told him that a million times!_ But the Vicomte wasn't giving up on her easily, he'd proven as much. And as flattered as she could feel, she also felt flustered. What if the Phantom heard the gossip? Worse, what if he believed it? She didn't want to give him any more reasons to hate her. _Well, not that my romantic life concerns him anyway._ But that wasn't entirely true, was it? She was actually quite worried over the possibility that he might think she was in love with another. Not that she would ever admit it, but she kind of liked his possessive strikes. And lately she would find herself thinking that he wasn't that bad-looking. He had presence, was a literate man and a fine gentleman. He sang, composed, wrote, drew and God knows what else. And most importantly, he had passion… The way he'd held her in the lair proved as much. Even if that wedding dress was a little over the top, it showed he cared for her. For all these years, he'd taken care of her.

Christine sighed once more and prayed that things would get simpler, just like in the old times.

- Erik's POV -

This time of the year didn't used to mean much to him. It was Christmas, a time for celebration of all things good in the world and love for one another. Having never felt loved by anyone or acknowledged particular nice things about mankind in general, it didn't bear particular meaning to him. That was, until he met Christine. Then it had become a magical night where we would make her dreams come true and remind her that she was not alone. It had become a spectacle, something he prided himself on offering her. He would leave her flowers and pastries by her nightstand and at midnight sharp he would always leave her a small present. The look on her face was priceless and filled his heart with something he'd not know until then._ Love_. All he wanted then was to make her feel like that forever. Neither one of them would ever have to feel lonely again. Things used to seem so simple when it was all about Christine and him. They had a world of their own, something only theirs than no outsider could ever reach. Until now.

He'd been spending too much time thinking about what she'd said, weighing her words and expressions, trying to decode it all. And thought that maybe she deserved a second chance, much for both of their sakes - he couldn't possibly imagine his world without her. Not now, when he'd come so close…

That's why this night was so important. It was a different Christmas. All repressed feelings were out, and none of them could draw back now. Christine would have to make her choice. And he wouldn't take it any other way. For how many years had he longed for her, for her love? He'd built his world around her, until she'd become his world. It was madness, he knew it. He felt like he was no longer in control of his actions, not when it came to her. His wildest side had been unleashed and the temptative brunette was the one to blame. Things were greatly changed: she was no longer a child, and beneath the angel façade was a man. Their friendship, if one could call it so, was held on a very fragile thread. He wanted more. Having the chance to get more, he wouldn't set for anything less. And the phantom would no longer treat Christine as his adored protegé. Not today.

This time, there would be no presents at midnight. They would talk and sort things out for once and for all; everything about this situation was draining him of all patience and energy and he had the feel that both of them needed the give an end to it. Erik had to obtain answers and, in exchange, was preparing himself for all the unavoidable Christine's questions.

It was almost time. Erik gulped.

- Christine's POV -

Christine looked at the clock and yawned. In 10 minutes it would be midnight and she was restless. In previous years, midnight meant mysterious presents and an even more mysterious presence. She gave a deep sigh. Maybe this time midnight would bring her something nice as well. At least that was she was hoping for.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door and Christine's heart was about to jump out of her chest. Her voice quivered when she said "Come in."

She turned around quickly, hoping to see the man who had saved her life.

The Vicomte de Chagny was standing next to the door. Christine's hopeful smile faded immediately.

"Raoul? W-what…"

"Good night, Christine."

She composed herself. "Good night. I'm sorry for being so rude, I wasn't expecting anyone to come here." _Liar. I'm a ruthless liar._ "To what do I owe this visit?"

Raoul gulped visibly and nervously unbuttoned his winter coat.

"Little Lotte… I've meant to ask you this for a few weeks, but for some reason I thought today was just… right."

_What? What could he possibly want of me at midnight - midnight! - On Christmas Eve?_

"You certainly seem distressed, but wouldn't it be wise to speak tomorrow instead? After all, it's late and I was about to go to b-"

"Christine."

Before she could utter any other word, Raoul was kneeling, a small square box in his hand. Before she could stop him, he opened it and said "After years apart, we met again and I can't help but feel like fate has brought us together. These past months have been magical and my only hope is that you give the chance to spend more and more time by your side. Would you marry me?"

Christine was petrified. This was mostly unexpected, especially given that she'd been practically ignoring him ever since the rooftop incident. How he'd concluded they should be married, she had no idea. They'd never kissed, their conversations were never long and she had been constantly dismissing him. And now she would have to refuse him.

"Christine, is there anything wrong?"

Raoul was growing impatient, no doubt. She hadn't said anything at all yet and was still thinking about the most courteous way to address him without hurting him too much - something that seemed rather impossible but needed to be done anyway.

"I can't marry you".

It wasn't exactly a delicate way to put things, but at least she was going straight to the point. There was no easy way out; it was better to put an end to his false hopes quickly and hope for the best.

He got up and grabbed her hand swiftly. "Christine, you don't need to be afraid anymore - the monster is long gone. That creature won't keep us from being happy, he can't. I'll do my best to protect you from it."

Christine drew her hand back and the Vicomte stared at her bewildered.

"I'm afraid you don't understand. I don't wish to marry you."

"Little Lotte, you don't need to pretend-"

"I won't marry you because I don't love you." There, she'd said it. It was a horrible thing to say, she knew. But lying about it wouldn't make it less true.

- Erik's POV -

Erik was behind the bedroom mirror, not being able to leave. He almost had, when that sneering boy had entered the room; but some strange force had compelled him to stay. By the time the Vicomte gallantly proposed to Christine blood in his veins froze for what seemed like an eternity. That is, until he heard her say "no". He thought he was dreaming; after all, why wouldn't she want to marry the boy? "I don't love you", she'd told Raoul. She hadn't spared his feelings, that was for sure. However, the phantom couldn't help but think about her actions the same way the Vicomte seemed to.

Maybe it was him the reason why rejecting Raoul so blatantly. But she hadn't quivered, there was no regret in her eyes, nothing that indicated hesitation in her actions.

Suddenly, he heard the boy.

"You're scared Christine, I know it. Last weeks were not easy on you and this proposal came to you as a shock, I have no doubt of it. But soon you'll cool your head down and you'll cease to be scared. Until then, I'll wait for your response." His tone was slightly desperate, but at the same time commanding.

Then, Christine snapped.

"I have already given you my answer. And don't act as if you know any better than me what is it that I'm feeling or thinking. I'm not a puppet!"

_That was… interesting_. And certainly not the reaction he was expecting. His Christine, always so kind and gentle, was using the harshest tone of voice he'd ever heard from her. She was growing to have a mind of her own. That fact comforted Erik the most and scared him all the same.

"You are clearly out of your mind! I'll come back when you think it through. Merry Christmas, Christine."

The Vicomte left indecorously and slammed the door. No doubt, he was furious and things had not had the outcome he'd expected. Well, that applied to Erik as well. Christine had certainly managed to surprise them both.

His look was on Christine, who was blushing furiously out of rage. She sighed and turned to the mirror. For how long she stared, he couldn't tell. Some would say she looked rather disappointed, but why? He figured that things were complicated enough was they were; there was no need to walk into the room and blow away his cover; she would immediately know he'd seen everything and he didn't wish to upset her even more. Also, Erik wished to confirm what she'd said - that she didn't love Raoul De Chagny.

This night had certainly turned the tables around, but not the way Erik had anticipated. Maybe it was best to leave things as they were for a while.

Christine went away and blew the candles.

There was nothing left for him to do.


	5. Chapter 5: Masquerade

Finally I made it out of chapter 5. I have the next four chapter plan, so hopefully I'll manage to upload a little faster.

Thank you for the lovely reviews :)

Disclaimer: I don't own POTO. All credits go to Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber and Monsieur Gaston Leroux.

**Chapter 5: Masquerade**

- Erik's POV -

A new year would soon begin. At the Opera Populaire, everyone was pulling out the best outfit they could for the Masquerade Ball. The dance provided the chance to bring out each and everyone's most unimaginable eccentricities. Oh, Paris in a crowded baroque ballroom.

Erik breathed in deeply. Tonight, not only would he announce to all of Paris his most recent masterpiece, he would also have to face Christine. Christine, who he hadn't seen since Christmas' Eve. He felt he ought not to, in case she changed her mind. Hope was building up and that same fact frightened him, for things had gone wrong far too many times – he dreaded hope, because that same hope could crush him to the depths of despair. The cruel obsession he kept over Christine, the loneliness he felt when she was not around, the remembrance of his former friend… The pain was too much to bear. Despite it all, the monstrous face and genial mind, he was a man, nothing more.

Drifting away these thoughts, he looked around. The ballroom was splendid. André and Firmin had really outdone it with the boy's fortune. The ball was splendid, despite general backstage inebriation. All of it was pure extravagance and luxury, as never before witnessed in the opera house. Everything was silver and gold and the dancers would move as gracefully as one could imagine.

_Masquerade… paper faces on parade!_

_Masquerade! Hide your face so the world will never find you!_

Ironically enough, this was the only night throughout the whole year when it wasn't necessary for him to hide from anyone. In spite of wearing his mask as always, on this day he wouldn't stand out from the crowd, but instead he would be a part of it. Not that he did truly. In the end, he alone would have to wear it until the end of his days. All those people would go back to their normal lives after the ball – the mask would come off, although not his. Of course this didn't mean a masked ball didn't have its advantages. He could still mingle, even if discreetly.

Erik looked for a discrete spot where he could stand without being bothered. And then, he saw her.

- Christine's POV –

Christine entered the ballroom. Twirls of color were everywhere. Despite admiring all the beautiful decorations and dances, she was much too tired. On the last few days, a hoard of admirers would gather every day at the entrance of the opera house in hopes of asking her to accompany them to the ball. They'd tried to bribe her with chocolates, flowers, and even diamond rings and necklaces, but she had sent them all back. Occasionally, she thought of Christmas night. He hadn't come. Ever since the night in his lair, there hadn't been a single sign as to his forgiveness towards her. Christine felt defeated, but knew she'd done all that she could in order to gain his trust back. She just hoped it would be enough. These thoughts wouldn't get out of her head, and as a result she'd barely slept since Raoul's unexpected proposal and felt tense at how he would take their encounter.

Hopefully, nothing would happen. Christine tried to keep her spirits up. She had come along with Meg and Mme. Giry, ready to spend a lovely and tranquil night. As she swirled around the room and felt mesmerized by the beauty of it all, someone caught her arm.

"Christine" a cold voice called her. She had but a moment to realize who it was.

"Monsieur de Chagny."Christine had never witnessed the Vicomte in such a state. His tone was harsh and his eyes shone of rage.

"I reckon you have reconsidered my offer to you".

She tried to let go of her arm, but it wouldn't do; his grip on her was much too tight. In the most courteous manner she could, Christine replied.

"In fact, I have not. My decision is irrevocable, I told you so. Pray let go of me."

He clasped her arm even more and with a sudden and violent jerk pulled her closer to him.

"You don't know what you are doing. You think you can take care of yourself now that you're adored by everyone, but you're wrong. I know who you fear. Him, the Phantom of the Opera."

He was being unusually rude and Christine feared what he might to afterwards. She replied as calmly as she could.

"I don't know what you mean, monsieur. Release my arm and I'll be content to forget about this most unfortunate episode."

- Erik's POV -

Christine Daaé was looking as lovely as ever, wearing a pink dress that brought out the moony paleness of her skin. No soon had he caught sight of her than the young Vicomte had managed to corner her. Erik grew apprehensive as he heard the conversation proceed.

"If not for that scoundrel, the spectrum that has invaded our lives, we could be together."

Abominable boy! The phantom felt a strike of rage. Was it possible that, after all, that was the real reason why she had refused Raoul de Chagny? Why then would she act like she did at his lair? Could it all be a façade?

"No, we wouldn't. All I said to you is the truth. You'll have to accept it."

Erik could see the Vicomte's face turning crimson. Raoul pushed Christine to an isolated corner. She was terrified, tears sprinkling in her eyes. The boy was acting uncharacteristically violent and threatening. Action was necessary. Just as Raoul was about to raise his hand, Erik emerged from the shadows.

"Mademoiselle?"

The Vicomte stopped and released her immediately. Christine turned around as white as a sheet. Her eyes widened. Doubtlessly, she'd recognized him.

"I hope I'm not interrupting." He sent a furious glare in the Vicomte direction.

Raoul lowered his eyes, visibly mortified. Erik continued.

"Pardon my interference, monsieur. I wonder if I could steal away this lovely lady to a dance?"

Humiliated, the boy gave a short reply.

"We were done." Quickly, he turned away and left.

- Christine's POV -

Surprise washed over Christine as she was led to a dance by no other than the phantom. She'd known who he was at the moment she heard his voice. Then she looked at him and her chest forgot how it was like to breathe. She supposed he was dressing as Death, but he still looked stunning, though a little too much intimidating.

He was tense, she could tell by the way he clenched his jaw. He was holding her close, both hands possessively grabbing her waist and bringing her body against his. Christine couldn't help whispering in his ear.

"Thank you for rescuing me."

Silence prevailed on his part, but his breath hastened. Christine gulped.

"I'd hoped I would see you at Christmas." He stared at her and she carried on. "I guess you're still cross with me, but I really thought I would hear something from you at least."

His rough voice answered sharply.

"Mademoiselle, you most certainly had no idea what you were getting yourself into when you started this_ affaire_ with the Vicomte."

Christine couldn't believe it. This was too much. He was insulting her in the worst possible way and she wouldn't take it.

"What are you implying?"

The phantom looked quite upset and inhaled sharply.

"Raoul de Chagny seemed quite broken-hearted. He also happens to believe the infamous opera ghost to be the cause of his heartache."

She stopped moving. This was most astonishing! "You think I have dismissed Raoul because I'm afraid of what you might do? Is that what this is all about? Me being scared of you?"

"Was that the reason you did so? Why else would you refuse such an advantageous proposal?" Every word he said was dripping sarcasm. "After all, the chance of becoming a vicomtesse doesn't come around everyday." He pulled her so they weren't still on the dance floor.

Blood froze in Christine's veins.

"How did you know that?"

"Hah?" Her angel stared and a genuinely intrigued look crossed his features.

"How could you possibly know about the proposal?"

- Erik's POV -

He'd been caught off guard. Rage and jealousy had clouded his thoughts and Erik had given himself away.

"This is hardly the place to talk about that", he managed to snap angrily.

"Let us talk somewhere else, then."

He observed Christine. She wouldn't leave it there. Christine looked beyond furious. Surprisingly, she didn't look scared at all. Erik grabbed her and took her away from the ballroom hastily, before anyone noticed they were having a fight.

"Where are you taking me?", she demanded.

"Somewhere we can talk, as you so delightfully have put it."

They entered one of the oldest rooms of the opera. Christine was as angry has he'd ever seen her.

"You were _spying_ on me?"

He stood silent, his gaze upon her still. Decidedly, he didn't approve Christine's accusatory tone. He sighed. "I wasn't spying on you. I was to come to you at midnight but that insufferable brat came in", he said sternly.

"Why should I believe that?" She was practically yelling at him, face red with anger and eyes watering.

"You might as well believe what you want, Christine."

She panted.

"You could have come to me in the meantime. Why didn't you?"

"I figured you needed time to think about the boy's proposal! And may God have mercy on me if I should ever interfere! The phantom of the opera is clearly clouding your chance of perfect happiness, isn't he? I'm menacing you and threatening anyone that dares come close!"

Her glare was piercing and her voice icy cold.

"Ah, so you really believe that, don't you? I didn't accept if offer because I can't compel myself to marry a man I don't love! Is it that hard to understand? Not everything revolves around the phantom!"

- Christine's POV –

Swiftly, he came dangerously close and her back was soon touching the wall. His hands were also on the wall, side by side at the level of her waist. Christine was trapped. Her breath faltered and her pulse quickened. His eyes were locked on hers, even in the gloominess of the room.

Soon his breath was on her neck, close to her ear.

"Why wouldn't you love him, dear Christine? And he seems so certain that I'm the one who is destroying his conjugal happiness." His words were acid, filled with disdain. Rapidly, he was pinning her up against the wall, his hands having moved to her waist. She could feel all of his body and his latent fury, but he hasn't hurting her nor was she afraid of him.

"You seem to have grown quite a woman. Not the defenseless naïve little girl I knew." His voice sounded like a purr in her ear, and Christine trembled with excitement. "I'm glad that you refused him. It would be such a shame if you were lying to me. The pain would be… excruciating." His voice was faltering and she couldn't bring herself to say a word. Tears were forming in his eyes, but as soon as theyhad come, they were gone. His eyes were clouded by desire and his lips brushed against hers. For what seemed an eternity, his eyes wandered around her lips.

"Yes, it would be such a shame, Christine…"

Then, when their eyes met, he left the room abruptly.

Okay, I know I'm making you suffer. I'm sorry for that (no I'm not!) 8D


	6. Chapter 6: Bedtime Stories

You asked, I delivered! The things is, this chapter is going to be a little shorter that the usual. Context is needed and Masquerade night isn't over yet :3 However, I can promise that the next chapters will bring more development concerning E/C relationship. Bear in mind that in the previous chapter a lot happens in a small amount of time, so there's actually no time for characters to think a lot about what's happening/their feelings/etc. The same happens here, of course. I'm trying to keep as many elements of the movie as I can and (in case you haven't noticed) to take things slowly with E/C. It is more believable this way, I guess!

Anyway, reviews are always welcome :D

**Disclaimer: I do not own POTO *snifff***

- Erik's POV -

He had to get out of that room. How could he have done that to her? His conduct towards Christine had been truly unforgivable. He felt no better than the Vicomte. For shame! His anger had taken the best of him. One less ounce of control and he would have kissed her and God knows where that would take him. Erik trembled at the thought, both excited and fearful. If there was something he didn't intend to do was to force himself upon Christine. He'd decided as much, after eavesdropping her refusal to the boy's proposal. But the constant tension between them, hearing her say in the most blatant way that she didn't love the Vicomte, thus dissipating his worst fears… and the look in her eyes, almost pleading. She hadn't been scared. She didn't fear him. And he, in all of his suspicion and jealousy had taken advantage of her. But now wasn't the time. He needed to make his great appearance tonight and stand up to the directors of Ópera Populaire. The piece he had worked so hard for had to be staged. And Christine Daaé would star it. Only she could play the role of Amina - she was his muse, after all. Even though the part was slightly unconventional, he wanted her to do it.

Erik went down to get the fold where the scores were. Quickly, he reached the main hall where most people were. It was time to unveil himself.

- Christine's POV -

Christine could only hear her heart pounding. Had it all been her imagination? He'd almost kissed her. _Almost_, she said to herself bitterly. Christine was feeling somewhat disappointed. The remembrance of their lips brushing kept her panting and blushing furiously, she was sure. The phantom had vanished, no explanations whatsoever - a behavior that was becoming quite common these days. At a loss, Christine decided to go to the great hall, in case Meg noticed her gone. She felt dizzy from all the commotion and sudden bright lights outside the room. Everyone was still dancing around merrily. Meg Giry ran towards her.

"Christine! Are you alright? You look as if you have seen a ghost!" The blonde girl grabbed her hands and looked at her with concern. "I searched for you everywhere. You were nowhere to be seen, you know."

Christine forced herself to smile encouragingly. "I felt indisposed for a while, had to go to the restroom. Do not worry about me, I'm fine"

"You seem really tired, Christine. Do not overwork yourself too much, promise me."

"I promise." They smiled to each other and proceeded walking close to the stairs, where Mme. Giry was.

Suddenly, the music stopped and most of the ballroom lights went out. A red figure appeared at the top of the staircase.

"It's him, the phantom of the opera", she heard Meg say.

- Erik's POV -

_Why so silent, good Messieurs?_

_Did you think that I had left you for good?_

_Have you missed me, good Messieurs?_

_I have written you an opera._

_Here, I bring the finished score - Don Juan Triumphant!_

There was no denying it. He was enjoying himself a lot more than he intended. The faces of André and Firmin were priceless. They were petrified with surprise. Which was exactly what he intended. He smirked with satisfaction at himself as he kept on greeting them in his own special way.

_Fondest greetings to you all…_

_A few instructions just before rehearsal starts_

_Carlotta must be taught to act_

_Not her normal trick of strutting round the stage_

_Our Don Juan must lose some weight_

_It's not healthy in a man of Piangi's age_

_And my managers must learn that their place is in an office_

_Not the arts..._

He was not so comfortable now. It was time to assess the part to Christine, his Amina. Erik felt embarrassed with himself, but would not let it ruin his performance. The Phantom had to reclaim his rightful place and not let the directors play him like a fool. This was his dominion and here he reigned supreme.

_As for our star, Miss Christine Daaé..._

_No doubt she'll do her best_

_It's true, her voice is good_

_She knows, though_

_Should she wish to excel_

_She has much still to learn_

_If pride will let her return to me, her teacher_

_Her teacher..._

As he went down the staircase towards Christine, he noticed her looking quite distressed. Their eyes locked once again and for a moment, he was lost in recollections of her lips close to his, of her body against his own. When he snapped out of it, his voice resounded the great hall.

"You must do as I say, or else you will curse the day you didn't do what I commanded."

Allowing himself to look at Christine one last time, he disappeared into a ball of fire.

- Christine's POV -

Christine felt weak and nearly passed out if it hadn't been for Mme. Giry and Meg. Images of the phantom were playing on her mind. The way he'd vanished in the middle of fire, his piercing gaze on her while descending the staircase, his sudden appearance, a vision in red… What troubled her the most was her reaction to his presence. He was so intense, so overwhelming - how could she ever deal with a man like that?

"My dear, you must rest. It has been a night of great agitation for you, no doubts about that. I should accompany you to your room."

She was with Mme. Giry in a small room, where no one would disturb them. Not that anyone would, anyway. The ball had dispersed from the moment the phantom made his appearance.

"Mme. Giry, I have a favor to ask of you."

The middle-aged woman remained calm, but sternly answered. "I know no more than anyone else, Christine."

"That's not true. You always know how to contact him, and always uses you as his messenger. Please, tell me about him. I must know more about this man!"

Mme. Giry seemed confused.

"I do not wish him any harm, Mme. Quite on the contrary. I need to find a way to understand him better. Please, Nette. Pray tell me everything you know."

Calmly, Mme. Giry held Christine's hand. "I trust your good sense, Christine. Deep down he's just a tormented genius."

For the following hour, Christine would hear the most astonishing, cruel and fantastic story of her life.

* * *

Hope you liked it! Review please :)


	7. Chapter 7: Weeping Angels

Soooo… new chapter is up! Hope you like it :) Review please!

Disclaimer: I do not own POTO, but I really wish I did!

**Chapter 7: Weeping Angels**

- Christine's POV -

As the day rose, Christine got up. Ever since her father had died, she would visit his grave on the first day of each year. She had always thought of it not as a sign of grief, but of hope. Hope that, wherever he was, he could guide and help her through troubled times. This year, she needed him more than ever before – she had improved her social status as a primma donna, but that fact didn't console her much. She would give anything to go back to much simpler times, when everyday was magical and she didn't have to worry about marriage proposals from vicomtes or masked men. Christine might have been poor and disregarded as a not very promising ballerina, but she'd never felt as lonely before. The events that had taken place the night before only made it worse. She had spent all night long tossing and turning, trying to make sense of everything Mme. Giry had told her about the opera ghost. He was just a man, she knew as much. Illusions concerning him had shattered a long time ago – Christine was no longer as ingenuous as she'd once been. But the story of his life had left a strong impression on her. How lonely he must have been all these years! A poor child living under the opera house, afraid of the harsh cruelty of men. His geniality never acclaimed, a life of shadows and death. The powerful mighty Phantom of the Opera had hidden not only his face but also his identity under the mask, concealed from the world and its malice. Never loved, always feared. Never a friendly gesture from anyone, not a word of kindness. Christine pitied him. How could she not? Despite his unfortunate life, he had always been kind to her. Everything she was, she owed it to him. Had he not noticed her, not taken her as his protégé, her life would have been a lot harder. Despite all of this, her angel had managed to love her in his own way. And he was not a young boy any longer. No, quite the contrary; he was a powerful man who was thirsty for love.

Her lips still tingled with remembrance of the previous night. The husky voice still echoed in her ears, the memories of duskiness in those emerald green eyes still sent shivers down her spine. What was she supposed to do? She'd been caught off guard by his behavior. So very possessive, so very rough. What would have happened if he had stayed? Christine trembled with excitement at the thought. But it still upset her that he accused her of having had an affair with Raoul. Of all people her angel should know that such accusations had no ground. Not to mention the role he had assigned to her on his opera. He wanted to teach her again? What could he possibly mean by that?

As thoughts ran wild, Christine dressed and went down to the stables. The opera house was silent and everyone was soundly asleep. Quickly, she addressed one of the stablemen and gave him a silver coin. "To my father's grave, please."

On her way, Christine felt the cold wind blowing on her face. Confusion had settled in her mind and she felt hopeless. Entering the cemetery, memories resurged in her mind and tears streamed down her face. At a quick pace she got to Gustave Daaé's grave. On this day, grief got the best of her. "Papa, what am I to do? What would you have me do?" Sobs started to build up. "I feel so lost, papa. My angel won't forgive me. I don't know what to do. I lost my friend, I lost the one friend who stayed when you were gone. What a fool I've been! I was so heartless, I really was. And I'm being punished for it, I am!" Christine cried her heart out. She didn't know how long had passed, but it had started to snow heavily and she was shivering with cold. It was time for her to leave. Silently, she said her prayers and went back to the Ópera Populaire.

- Erik's POV –

A chilly morning was upon him. Or at least he supposed, since he had no way of knowing in his lair. Last night had drowned him in guilt and shame. His conduct towards Christine had been abominable and he hated himself for it. Just when he had the chance to set things right between them, he had to sabotage the whole thing! Erik truly believed Christine to be horrified by his actions. He had always tried to act the perfect gentleman around her, to make her feel safe in his presence. And yet again, he had managed to frighten her further, proving himself the monster she undoubtedly believed him to be. After rescuing from that boy, he had worsened things. There was no other way – he needed to apologize properly. For Erik, honor had always been a second plan issue; survival had always been his priority. This time, it was different. It wasn't about survival, it was about respecting the woman he so dearly loved. Christine's acceptance was too important for him - it was invaluable to have her in his life and he was ready to accept his faults, as much as it wounded his pride.

He got ready to go out. If his memory didn't fail him, Christine went to the graveyard on the first day of every year. Erik decided not to follow her, for he understood her need for a private moment to mourn the loss of her father. He had to restrain himself when it came to her and would not disrespect her further by going after Christine. In fact, he would rather wait for her to return.

Ever so carefully, he went to the stables. Fortunately, the extensive celebrations that had taken place made it easier for him to move to an isolated spot, from which he could observe perfectly everything that took place without being noticed.

The carriage appeared at the end of the alley. Christine got off of it swiftly and Erik managed to hold her arm. He had startled her but she didn't cry out loud, thankfully. Erik examined her face. Red puffy eyes were an absolute trace of crying and there was such desolation in them that his heart sank. Erik couldn't help but feel that the tears had been his fault, even if partially.

"Christine." His tone was grave. "I need to talk to you most urgently."

- Christine's POV -

She was taken aback by the phantom's sudden appearance. His look was serious, his presence as dark and mysterious as ever; fascinating as only the phantom of the opera could be. Christine had definitely not anticipated this. Of course, she had assumed that they would need to speak eventually. Or so she had hoped. Anyway, whatever the matter it seemed serious enough to make him into broad sunlight – well, not exactly, since it was snowing and the sky was darkened by big deep grey clouds.

"Alright then. Let us talk." She replied softly, almost whispering.

Without further exchange of words or looks, the phantom led her through staircases and tunnels, until they had reached the top of the opera house. They entered a dusty room contiguous to the rooftop. Clearly it wasn't used very often, for it was completely empty. Christine thought that it would have made a splendid ballroom. Not only was it enormous, but it also had one of the most exquisite features she'd ever found in a room - glass walls and roof. How come no one knew about this? She had lived in the opera house for about twelve years and never had she realized this room existed! She was charmed by it and it wasn't until she heard the phantom's footsteps that Christine remembered what she'd come there for. She turned around and noticed the gloomy expression across the phantom's face. He appeared distressed, which was making Christine the more anxious.

"What is it?"

He was looking in her direction, but at the same time he seemed absentminded. It was almost as if he was looking through her, not at her. Slowly, he moved towards her.

"Christine…" the golden voice was quivering. "Forgive me." The phantom looked down and breathed in deeply. His eyes were wandering around, not focusing on anything. His look was drawing away from Christine.

"W-what?" She was astonished, and rather perplexed.

"I want to apologize for my manners last night. I am deeply ashamed of my behavior towards you. I assaulted you, harassed you! I can't forgive myself for those vile actions. You are right to think of me as monster; I deserve no other name regarding my conduct. I'm a beast, a brute!" His words were getting louder and harder at himself, filled with hatred.

"Stop it!" she heard herself cry.

The man looked her straight in the eyes for a moment, but then carried on with his speech of self-loath, thunderous echoing. "But I am a monster! I KILLED BUQUET! And yesterday I almost took advantage of you! I pushed you against the wall, I almost…" he gulped. "…forced myself upon you. I must be a beast of the worst sort! I wouldn't blame you if you feared me and detested me. I deserve it, I do deserve it…"

As serenely as she could, Christine said.

"You did not assault me or mistreat me." She touched his arm and the phantom looked at her. The expression in his eyes could only be interpreted as disbelief.

"I pushed you! And my behavior was most inappropriate! Christine, I almost tainted you!"

"You did not do such a thing, monsieur! I'm not injured! In fact, if it hadn't been for you I might as well could have been harmed!" Christine was sobbing. "Don't call yourself such things, please. You have saved my life and yesterday you rescued me again." She tried to smile. "Don't say such things. You couldn't have possibly taken advantage of me, you barely even touched me! Please, don't punish yourself needlessly." Weeping, she continued. "I'm unworthy of such actions from you. I'm the one who needs forgiveness. I should have thought of how lonely you were, of how kind you were to me when I was alone. I could have been a better friend to you, and still you kept protecting me. You have no idea of how much I owe you. Don't say such things. I am not afraid of you and I trust I could never be."

- Erik's –

Erik thought he was dreaming. Was Christine really saying such things?

"I'm not plotting against you. Do you believe me now?"

Her expression was honest and hopeful. He could not deny her sincerity and generosity towards him. Not any longer. Pain stung in his chest and shock overcame him. How come he could have been so blind? All that time, she had been trying to reach out to him, and he had been so consumed with jealousy and suspicion that he had kept her at bay.

"I killed a man, Christine. My hands are of a murderer."

"Why did you do it?" was her calm reply.

"I had advised Firmin and André about for the cast of 'Il Muto', as you well know." Erik groaned. "After my appearance, Buquet tracked me down. I couldn't let him catch me… he was too close." His eyes shone with unshed tears. "I couldn't let him. Men are wicked, Christine. You have no idea." He was shaking.

Christine did not respond. She got closer and embraced him, her resting head on his chest. They'd never been this intimate. Actually, he'd never been this intimate with anyone. No one had ever held him. No one had ever cared. He held her back in a clumsy way, but she did not flinch.

"I am not afraid of you." She looked up and released him ever so slowly. They stared at each other for a long time, until she broke the silence.

"May I ask you something?" Her voice was slightly shaking but soft. He gave her an encouraging look.

"What is your name?" A flush spread across her cheeks and she looked away shyly. "I m-mean, you don't have to tell me if you do not wish to. It's just that…" Their eyes locked. "… I find it strange not having anything else to call you but 'angel'."

Oh. From all the questions she could have asked – and that he imagined she would ask – he had not considered this one.

"Erik. My name is Erik."

"Erik." She repeated. His name sounded magical on her lips.

They fell into comfortable silence again. Snowflakes were gently falling outside, looking like small crystal stars as the sun shed on them. Christine was tremulous and he didn't know if she was cold or emotional. He took of his gloves and gently whispered.

"Christine."

"Hm?" She had been watching the snow most thoughtfully and now her chocolate curls bounced as she turned her head towards him. He held her small delicate hands in his own and affectionately squeezed them

"Your hands are cold."


	8. Chapter 8: Questions

Hey hey! Finally, a brand new chapter has arrived! Sorry for taking so long, it seems writer's block really got me for these past weeks. Anyhow, enjoy and don't forget to review :D (oh, i'm sorry for any spelling mistakes - my Ginger app is not working correctly :')

**Chapter 8: Questions**

- Christine's POV -

Life had never been more exciting to Christine. Since New Year, everything seemed to be falling in to place in a very tranquil way. She had been promoted to _primma donna_ in Opera Populaire - these were, of course, exciting news; however, she knew the administration board had only done so regarding the phantom's threats. Both André and Firmin were far too fond of Signora Carlotta Giudicelli. Sometimes, Christine would catch them staring at her suspiciously, probably afraid of her influence over Raoul. Surely she knew about the all the gossip about her and the supposed _affaire_ with the vicomte; some staff of the opera house had even commented the reason why Monsieur de Chagny had abruptly stopped visiting was that he suspected her to be involved with other men - nonsense, all of it! Not that she cared. Christine was completely dedicated to her work life, and was rapidly getting accustomed to the routine of a first soprano. Seldom did she leave the building at all! As far as anyone could tell, she was the most hard-working person on the stage, never missing rehearsals and being scrupulously on time - always the first to arrive and the last one to leave. Christine had a strong reason for it. All eyes were on her. After all, everyone knew that the Phantom had chosen _her_ to play the main role. And that wasn't something to be overlooked easily; she had to prove what a good singer she was. As never before, Christine was determined to excell. This was no ordinary play - it required an outstanding voice that could convey all the secret feelings and undisguised passion in her character. Actually, she found the play quite exquisite and most extraordinary. The first time she had read it, Christine started blushing so furiously that she had to wash her face no less than three times. _This_ was what was expected of her? Playing a näive young girl caught in the depths of desire, entagled in the web of a seductive womanizer? Not only was this shockingly different than any opera she'd seen or even heard of before, it was also something that she had never expected from Erik. To think that role had been written specifically for her made Christine red to the roots of her hair. Well, she didn't venture to wonder wether he had written it with her in mind, symbolizing Amina. It just seemed too incredible to her, since Christine did not think there were any similarities between them. She preferred, still unconvinced, that it must have been for her vocal range and acting abilities.

Or not. The more Christine tried to recall her first night in the catacombs, as well as the music the ghost had sung for her, she felt that he didn't mean her to be just friends with him. The way he'd held her and stayed close didn't hint at "just friends". That and the Masquerade Ball night. It had been about two months, but she remembered that every single day, still puzzled by his actions and their meaning. Fortunately, she was slowly gathering the courage to confront him about that. Despite being with him every day, she wouldn't dare making such questions just yet, for it might break the trust he had bestowed on her. For the last few weeks, they hadn't just been pupil and teacher - they had also been dear friends. The wall between them seemed to have been destroyed almost entirely and Christine was infinitely grateful for it. She had learned so much about Erik in such a short period of time! He had traveled through the East and had collected the most astounding collection of objects. He told her about women who kept their face covered except for the eyes, and showed her books in languages and alphabets she had never heard of. One thing she noticed was that never once did he speak of his childhood - anyone who would listen to him would have thought that his life had only begun by the time he had found himself in Eastern Asia! Christine was delighted to have the opportuniy to know more about his life outside the opera house. It meant that he had not confined himself, unlike so many stories she had heard. He was a well-versed man, outstanding in every area of knowledge. Had it not been for the mask that covered half of his face, he would easily pass for a high-rank gentleman, a nobleman of some aristocratic family. His posture was consistently proud and confidant and Christine admired him exceedingly for it, knowing how rough his younger years had been on him. To have the chance to know the man behind the man was a privilege to her, and she cherished it dearly. She couldn't help but wonder how his life could have turned out if he hadn't been born with such a scarred complexion. Probably he would have become a word-class artist, admired by all. Not that his geniality remained hidden, not anymore. Don Juan would be his catappult to success, she was sure of it. Perhaps slightly unconventional, the play would definitely be remembered for its boldness and bewitching melodies. And Christine would play the heroine, the forever disgraced Amina. As much as she avoided any comparison betweem Amina and herself, her head kept on displaying parallelisms that were quite hard to ignore. There was only one way to solve this riddle, and that was confrontation, a path she had been trying to avoid.

However, curiosity had always taken the best of her and she wouldn't settle until she knew exactly why she was to play Amina or, more importantly, why he had written such a character for her. Christine couldn't help but feel this role had something to do with her directly, and she was restless as to Erik's intentions. For several times she had tried to introduce the subject, but somehow he had always managed to change subject or give evasive, but effective answers. Still feeling a little shy around him to introduce such a scandalous topic, Christine would give up momentarily. But that wouldn't suffice for long, she knew. Soon she would start rehearsals with Ubaldo Piangi, for the final act. And as professional as she could be, Christine had no idea how to handle such an intense episode with no other than Piangi as her supposed object of desire. Thankfully, Monsieur Reyer had greatly limited their interaction on stage, as not to hurt susceptibilities of the audience. That only meant that the scenes where Christine was to profess her undying love had to be even more believable both in song and gesture. How she was to do that was still a mystery in her head - Piangi was by no means the ideal actor do counterpart with. He constantly wished to be in the spotlight and though his singing was quite impecable, his acting ways were stiff, rigid, deploit of naturality or charm, all qualities that did not make her mission any easier. In time, Christine knew she would have to ask Erik for guidance. And then, she would try to inquiry him further with the questions that were still hanging in her head.

- Erik's POV -

Another day had passed and the opening night for Don Juan was approaching. Erik was pleased with rehearsal instructions from Monsier Reyer. The old maestro had always been one of the few competent people in Ópera Populaire, eventhough he wasn't as rigid as the phantom wished him to be. In such a position, it was far better to have someone like Madame Giry, who accepted nothing less than perfection from her corps de ballet - in result, excellence prevailed. Not like Reyer, for sure, whose soft temper had led to ridiculous demands from Carlotta!

Erik was also very glad that Reyer had limited the stage interaction between Piangi and Christine. Eventhough the manuscript of the play implied that they should act as lovers, for once the phantom was thankful that Monsieur Reyer saw himself as a decent man who wouldn't dream of putting such heated scenes on stage. Erik had pushed it with the dialogues as well, but then he had never intended for Piangi to play the Count's part in the first place! Come to think of it, the magnificence of his play was slightly diminished with Ubaldo as the irresistible hero. Not only was he too fat and short to play the role, he did not have the intense masculine presence the part required. Don Juan was supposed to be a seductor, an irresistible man, the downfall of Amina - an image Piangi could hardly convey to the audience. Frustration aside, Reyer's modifications meant that Christine would hardly have to be touched by Ubaldo Piangi. That was a relief, given his tendency to 'incidently' grope ballerinas and chorus girls. As long as Christine was safe from his hands, Erik could be much calmer and work diligently without any distractions. Fortunately, the last couple of months had been a blessing for him. Talking to Christine had proved to be the right thing to do and Erik couldn't recall a time when he was happier. Everyday he would see Christine in private, for she had resumed singing lessons with him. Despite the initial awkwardness at being face to face as pupil and teacher, they had soon grown accustomed to it and were getting closer than ever before. Most of the times, Christine would stay after the lessons and they would speak about almost anything until it was time for dinner. It delighted him to see her amazed stare at the stories he would tell about his travels around the world. There was so much he wanted to show her, to teach her! There was so much more about him than the man with the mask! Erik really wished her to be pleased by this side of him. After all, he was showing her who he really was and giving her a glimpse of the man he could be. The man he hoped she one day would want to be with. And, as far as he could tell, she had shown no sign that indicated otherwise, though there was no reason to get his hopes up either.

Her perfomance would be sublime, he anticipated. Her voice seemed to have been created solely for the purpose of singing Amina's arias; its range was unbelievable, something most composers could only dream of. Still, Erik thought Christine was far too innocent, far too young to provide due maturity and sensuality to the role. The whole play had been a fantasy of his, a means to take revenge against Christine and the vicomte. In his head, Amina was Christine and he was no other than Don Juan. As shameless as it was, and in spite of feeling terribly embarrassed by the fact that his masterpiece had had such shallow inspiration, Erik's most possessive facet did not regret it or even felt compelled to call everything off. Christine lacked experience, there was no doubt about that. But surely she would rise to the occasion, like she had always done. And as to him, he could always pretend and try to hide his true intentions. Thankfully, there was no need to take revenge on anyone now.

As he made some notes on partitures, Christine arrived just in time for her lesson. She looked as breathtaking as ever, dressed in deep green velvet and wild curls loose over rosed cheeks. Erik had just turned around in his chair so he could get up, when she hugged him dearly, almost knocking him out of his chair with astonishment. For the last weeks she had always done this, and while he was still not accustomed to it, it always came as a wonderful surprise. His Christine was precisely the opposite from everyone he had encountered in his lifetime. Friendly, warm and spontaneous. Erik was glad she didn't behave with unease around him, though his body still stiffened when she got too close. Sometimes she would laugh heartidly at his clumsy hugs, but never dared to mock him. Instead, she would pull her arms more closely around him and say "You see? This is what you have to do" while resting her head on his shoulder. It felt nice to have someone who wouldn't cringe away from him, eventhough he wasn't used to such displays of affection. Week after week, he felt more confidant around her and happy that she seemed to feel that way as well.

Lessons started and Erik automatically assumed the posture of a tutor. This week, Christine had been a little more distraught than usual. That was worrisome, given Christine had always been the most exemplary student one could find. Sometimes he would find himself correcting her in the most basic details, which was not only unnecessary but also bothersome. Something was going on.

"Christine." Her chocolate brown eyes looked startled at him. "What is the matter?"

She stammered, flushed with embarrassment. "W-what do you mean?"

"Your thoughts seem to be wandering somewhere else. Care to tell me?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. We might start again, if you wish."

Impatiently, Erik stood close to her.

"You have been like that all week. Is everything alright? Are you worried about the opening night? You will be outstanding, like always! I don't care about what those idiots say, you-"

Christine interrupted him and her eyes fixed his.

"I'm not worried." She gulped. "There's something I need to ask you."

* * *

What did you think? Review please!


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